


Help

by ThatOneWriter15



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, POV Third Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-29 00:07:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21400891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatOneWriter15/pseuds/ThatOneWriter15
Summary: Set at the end of 5.14 ("My Bloody Valentine"), Dean's desperate and lost, and she tries to center him.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Original Female Character(s), Dean Winchester/Reader
Comments: 11
Kudos: 43





	Help

Sam’s anguished screams bounce off the walls of Bobby’s panic room as violently as they do inside of Dean’s skull. She and Castiel keep watch alongside Dean, but there’s nothing any of them can do. Except wait. For Sam’s system to rid itself of all the recently-consumed demon blood.

Cass attempts to reason with Dean, to convince him Sam will be okay. But Sam’s relentless shouting silences Cass’s words the second they reach Dean’s ears.

“I just need some air,” Dean announces. He exits before anything else can be said.

Cass sighs heavily as he leans back against the iron door. She runs her hand down his sleeve. Leaving Sam and Cass behind--even momentarily--fights her instincts, but she can’t let Dean spiral alone.

She locks in on Cass’s sky-blue eyes. “I’ve got him,” she volunteers.

The angel gives her a brief nod. “I’ll stay with Sam.”

***

As soon as she steps outside, she wishes she’d pulled on a jacket. The wrathful clouds spit a chilly rain. Distant thunder presents a warning.

Bobby’s salvage yard is jarring in the misty night lighting. Courtesy of harsh, nearby security lamps, glints of metal shine from all angles. The various shells of cars form shapes and patterns as unique and unsettling as jack-o-lanterns’ carved visages. 

But the scariest sight is Dean.

Standing next to Baby with a bottle of whiskey he doesn’t bother bringing to his lips, Dean stares at the leaf-dusted asphalt beneath his boots. Worried what his next move may be, she picks up her gait.

She watches as he tilts his head upward, and the realization of what he’s about to do stops her in her tracks.

He’s _ praying_. 

Fresh out of options and hope and feeling like a fool, Dean allows himself to succumb. To open himself up to someone he vehemently wrote off. “Please…”

What does he _ say_? How does he convey what he’s desperate for? “I can’t…” 

Vulnerability floods his eyes. This is it. He’s really doing it. 

“I need some help,” he begs. “Please.”

She’s concerned she’s intruding, but she continues walking anyway. 

“Dean,” she murmurs, now right behind him. 

He hangs his head, still facing away from her. She shouldn’t have to see him like this. Hell, she shouldn’t be subjected to him and his utter worthlessness at all. 

He has never been more hollow.

She presses her cheek into the space between his shoulder blades. Her arms slip around his waist, and she holds on for dear life. 

Earlier, Famine claimed Dean was empty. What she wouldn’t do to fill him with even an inkling of hope, reassurance, strength… If only she knew _ how_.

She can’t see Dean’s tears, but she can _ feel _them. In the contraction of his stomach, the tremors traveling up his spine.

The warmth radiating from her both physically and spiritually eventually coaxes Dean into turning around. 

Behind her, light cuts through the fog, surrounding her in a muted glow. Her expression suggests willingness _ and _patience. 

_ Whatever you need, _he can almost hear her offer.

Dean hugs her with everything he’s got left. He buries his face in the curve of her neck and breathes her in like she’s the answer to a prayer.


End file.
